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Tag: weight-loss drug

  • The Ozempic Plateau

    The Ozempic Plateau

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    The latest weight-loss drugs are rightly hailed as game changers for obesity, but in an important way, they are just like every other method of managing weight: They work only to a point for weight loss. The pounds melt off quickly at first and then gradually and then not at all. You can’t lose any more no matter what you do. You’ve hit the weight-loss plateau.

    It happens with dieting. It happens with bariatric surgery. And it happens now with both semaglutide (better known as Ozempic or Wegovy, depending on whether it’s prescribed for diabetes or weight loss) and tirzepatide (better known as Mounjaro or Zepbound). Weight loss triggers a set of powerful physiological changes in the body, which evolved over millions of years to keep us alive through periods of food scarcity. “Everybody plateaus,” says Jamy Ard, an obesity doctor at Wake Forest University. Exactly when varies quite a bit from person to person, but it happens after losing a certain percentage of body weight—meaning some people might plateau while still meeting the criteria for obesity.

    For Wegovy, it’s after losing, on average, 15 percent, usually more than a year into starting the drug. For Zepbound, it’s about 20 percent. These numbers are higher than is sustainable through diet and exercise alone, but they also do not reach the 30 percent achievable via the gold standard of bariatric surgery.

    These differences matter because they suggest that the level of the plateau is not permanently fixed. Recent advances in understanding the gut hormones that these drugs are designed to mimic hint at a possibility of even more powerful weight-loss drugs. Scientists are now testing ways to push the plateau down further; a drug could one day be even more effective than bariatric surgery.

    All of this raises an unsettled question: “How much weight loss is enough?” says Jonathan Campbell, who studies gut hormones at Duke. In studies, even 5 to 15 percent weight loss can substantially reverse high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and high cholesterol. Yet a patient who starts at 375 pounds with a BMI of 60 might still find themselves ineligible for a joint replacement that requires a BMI below 40, flawed as BMI may be. Or they may simply want to look thinner. The explosion of weight-loss drugs has reopened thorny questions about how they should be used, but nevertheless, pharmaceutical companies are racing ahead to develop more and more powerful ones.


    Weight loss is easiest at the beginning, before your body starts actively working against it. “Your brain doesn’t know you’re trying to lose weight on purpose,” Ard says. And once it notices, “it thinks that something is wrong.” So your body tries very, very hard to compensate.

    First of all, you become hungrier, obviously. And not just because you want to eat as much as you did before; you actually want to eat more than you did prior to losing weight. “With every one kilogram you lose, your appetite goes up above baseline by 90 or so calories per day,” says Kevin Hall, who studies metabolism at the National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases. At the same time, your body looks for ways to conserve energy. Your muscles work more efficiently, for example, Ard says, so walking that normally burned 100 calories might now burn only 90. By making you want to eat more and burning fewer calories, your body is eventually able to slow weight loss down to zero. Here is your plateau. This is, all told, a remarkably elegant and robust system, if what you wanted to do is to maintain your weight.

    If you’re in fact trying to lose more weight, the plateau is psychologically frustrating. The same diet, the same exercise routine, the drug on which you were just losing weight will seem to have stopped working—but they haven’t. (If they did actually stop working, you would be regaining weight.) But your body is now fighting so hard against the weight loss that it requires a persistent effort just to keep the weight off, Hall says. Should you ease up, the weight will come right back, as seen in yo-yo dieting or weight regain after stopping Wegovy or Zepbound.

    The only way to get past a plateau is to up the intensity or number of interventions. Doctors might recommend, for example, bariatric surgery and a weight-loss drug. But in the future, novel drugs might be able to pharmacologically up the intensity. The progression from Wegovy to the more effective Zepbound has in fact already brought us one step closer.


    Wegovy and Zepbound both belong to a class of drugs that mimic a gut hormone called GLP-1. Both of these drugs bind GLP-1 receptors in the brain, which seems to reduce hunger. Zepbound goes a step further, though. It can also bind receptors for a second gut hormone, called GIP. Years ago, researchers noticed that bariatric surgery changes the balance of gut hormones in the body, including GLP-1 and GIP. This—and not just the physical shrinking of the stomach—is now understood to be a key driver of weight loss, to the point that bariatric surgery is sometimes called “metabolic surgery.” These observations inspired research into drugs that target not just GLP-1 but also GIP and other hormones. Essentially, they’re performing metabolic surgery with a drug rather than a scalpel.

    Exactly why Zepbound outperforms Wegovy is still unclear. One obvious hypothesis is that it mimics a second gut hormone; the more hormonal pathways it can influence, perhaps, the more body parts it affects and the more weight loss it triggers. And a recent clinical trial of retatrutide, a further modified derivative of Zepbound that mimics a third hormone called glucagon, demonstrated even greater weight loss: 24 percent at the highest dose.

    A second hypothesis suggests that the difference between Wegovy and Zepbound still goes back to GLP-1. Although both drugs bind that receptor, they tickle it slightly differently, setting off slightly different chain reactions. Wegovy seems to also activate some cellular machinery that acts as a break, possibly limiting its efficacy. This suggests another strategy for fine-tuning gut-hormone drugs: Companies have so far focused on trying to design one drug that binds to multiple hormone receptors, like a master key that can open three different locks. This was a practical choice, Campbell says, because trying to study three separate new drugs in clinical trials would be a logistical “nightmare.” But the optimal combination for weight loss might actually require individual keys that can jigger individual receptors in just the right way—that is, a double or triple combination of drugs.

    It may also eventually be possible to keep increasing the dosage of GLP-1 drugs to push the weight-loss plateau down. Right now, the dose is limited by what people are willing to tolerate. The drugs can cause severe nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, so they have to be ramped up slowly over many weeks to induce tolerance and minimize side effects. But Novo Nordisk is trialing the drug in Wegovy at up to 16 milligrams a week, more than six times the current maximum dose. Tinkering with other gut-hormone pathways could also help with side effects. GIP receptors, for example, are found in neurons whose activation might suppress nausea, which may in part be why Zepbound seems to have slightly milder side effects.

    Zepbound is likely the first of many leveling-ups from single-action GLP-1 drugs. Even as the science advances, no safe method of losing weight is meant to eliminate the weight-loss plateau—and indeed, you wouldn’t want to keep losing weight indefinitely. But lose more weight? Pharmaceutical companies are betting on a market for that. With obesity drugs projected to become a $100 billion industry by 2030, they are eager for a slice of that massive pie. “The dollar signs are so big now,” Campbell says. Zepbound is the newest weight-loss drug on the block, but it too may eventually be old news.

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    Sarah Zhang

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  • Beware the Ozempic Burp

    Beware the Ozempic Burp

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    On the November morning when the sulfur burps began, Derron Borders was welcoming prospective students at the graduate school where he works in New York. Every few minutes, no matter how hard he tried to stop, another foul-smelling cloud escaped his mouth. “Burps that taste and smell like rotten eggs—I think that’s what I typed in Google,” he told me.

    Eventually, Borders learned that his diabetes medication was to blame. Sulfur burps appear to be a somewhat rare side effect of semaglutide, tirzepatide, and other drugs in their class, known as GLP-1 receptor agonists. Over the past several years, these medications have become more popular under the brand names Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro, as a diabetes treatment and a weight-loss drug. And as prescription numbers rise, a strange and unpleasant side effect has been growing more apparent too.

    GLP-1 receptor agonists are well known to cause gastrointestinal symptoms, including abdominal pain, diarrhea, and vomiting. In clinical trials of semaglutide for weight loss, 44 percent of participants experienced nausea and 31 percent had diarrhea. (The same conditions afflicted only about one-sixth of participants who received a placebo.) Burping, a.k.a. “eructation,” showed up in about 9 percent of those who got the drug, versus less than 1 percent of those who took a placebo. The FDA lists eructation as a possible side effect for semaglutide and tirzepatide alike.

    But I couldn’t find any information in the clinical-trial reports or FDA fact sheets about sulfur burps in particular, and neither Novo Nordisk nor Eli Lilly, the companies that make these drugs, responded to my inquiries. Laura Davisson, the director of medical weight management at West Virginia University Health Sciences, told me that more than 1,000 of her clinic’s patients are currently on a GLP-1 receptor agonist, and about one-fifth experience sulfur burps at first. For all but a handful of these patients, she said, the issue goes away after a few months. Holly Lofton, an obesity-medicine specialist at NYU, guesses that it affects just 2 percent of her patients.

    Experts aren’t sure why taking GLP-1 receptor agonists might lead to having smelly burps, but they have some theories. Davisson proposed that semaglutide boosts the number of bacteria in patients’ digestive tracts that produce hydrogen sulfide, a gas that can be expelled from either end of the digestive tract, and that smells (as Borders found) like rotten eggs. She also noted that the drugs slow down digestion, which could give the stomach more time to break down food and produce gas. In this situation, Lofton told me, the putrid air may escape most readily up through the mouth, because it’s lighter than the liquids and semi-solids that also fill the stomach. “Whatever’s on top will come up,” she said.

    Eating more than usual while on the medications seems to be a common trigger. Davisson said that certain foods, such as dairy, may also lead to more odorous emissions. “Sometimes it’s a matter of trial and error,” she said. “Some tips that we give people are things like: Don’t eat really heavy meals; don’t eat large portions at once; don’t eat right before bed.” In addition to these behavioral approaches, Craig Gluckman, a gastroenterologist at UCLA Health, told me he recommends antacids and anti-gas medications to patients with GLP-1-agonist-related sulfur burps. (Online, apple-cider vinegar is commonly recommended as a fix, but Gluckman said he would not recommend it.)

    The providers I spoke with said that, in general, patients tend to experience sulfur burps when they’re first starting an Ozempic-like drug, or raising their dose. That was the case for Crystal Garcia, an HR administrator in Texas who started taking semaglutide from a compounding pharmacy after her doctor told her she was prediabetic. (Garcia vlogs about her experience with weight-loss drugs.) Three months later, while out to breakfast at a restaurant, Garcia’s family started to complain about a gross and eggy smell. Garcia figured that the smell was coming from the food, but it lingered in the car after the meal. The family wondered whether Garcia’s young son had had an accident. “I was like, it could not be me. There’s no way,” she told me. But when she burped again, she was forced to change her mind.

    Many patients are unaware that sulfur burps are a possible side effect of their medication until they start, well, burping sulfur. For a while, Borders had no idea that his diabetes medicine might be the culprit; when he saw a physician’s assistant to discuss his issue, “Ozempic didn’t even come up,” he said. The side effect is relatively new to physicians. Earlier GLP-1 agonists didn’t seem to produce sulfur burps so frequently, Lofton said. In her practice, the phenomenon wasn’t really apparent until Ozempic hit the American market in 2018, and even then, she learned about it only from her patients. “I’d never heard of sulfur burps before I started prescribing this medicine,” she said.

    Though the sulfur burps are (physically) harmless, some patients do stop taking their diabetes or weight-loss drugs because of them, Lofton told me. But most, including Garcia and Borders, end up sticking with their program. As bad as the side effects may be, patients think the drugs’ benefits are worth it. “I have had a patient say that her burps smelled like poop,” Davisson said. But even then, she did not want to stop the medication.

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    Rachel Gutman-Wei

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  • Ozempic Is About to Be Old News

    Ozempic Is About to Be Old News

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    All of a sudden, Ozempic is everywhere. The weight-loss drug that it contains, semaglutide, is a potent treatment for obesity, and Hollywood and TikTok celebrities have turned it into a sensation. In just a few months, the medication has been branded as “revolutionary” and “game-changing,” with the power to permanently alter society’s conceptions of fatness and thinness. Certainly, a drug like semaglutide could be all of those things: Never in the history of medicine has one so safely led to such dramatic weight loss in so many people.

    But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. As weight-loss medications go, Ozempic is far from perfect. Though the drug has profound impacts, it requires weekly injections, a tolerance for uncomfortable side effects, and the stamina—not to mention the budget—for long-term treatment. (Ozempic has somehow become a catchall term for semaglutide but technically that product has gotten FDA sign-off only as a diabetes medication. A larger dose of semaglutide, marketed as Wegovy, has been approved for weight loss.)

    Made by the Danish drugmaker Novo Nordisk, semaglutide dominates the U.S. weight-loss market right now, but its reign might be short-lived. The colossal demand for these drugs has spurred a competition in the pharmaceutical industry to develop even more potent and powerful medications. The first of them could become available as soon as this summer. For all its hype, semaglutide is the stepping stone and not the final destination of a new class of obesity drugs. Just how good they get, and how quickly, will go a long way in determining whether this pharmaceutical revolution actually meets its full promise.

    In a sense, semaglutide hardly represents a major step forward in science. Diet drugs are nothing new, and even the category of pharmaceuticals that these new products belong to, called “GLP-1 agonists,” has been around for several years. These drugs mimic the hormone GLP-1 (glucagon-like peptide one) and bind to its receptor in the body. This triggers a sense of fullness associated with having just eaten, and also slows the release of food from the stomach. (It also increases insulin secretion, keeping blood sugar in check, which is why Ozempic is still intended as a diabetes drug.) Already, these pharmaceuticals have gotten better over time: A daily injection called liraglutide and sold as Saxenda, which was approved by the FDA in 2014 for obesity, leads to the loss of 5 to 10 percent of a person’s body weight in most cases. But one reason semaglutide took off in a way that liraglutide didn’t is that it can lead to weight loss of up to 20 percent. “Now you have a shot that’s once a week instead of every day, you’re making dramatic improvements, and people notice more,” Angela Fitch, the president of the Obesity Medicine Association and the chief medical officer of the obesity-care start-up Knownwell, told me.

    But not everyone who takes these drugs can achieve that level of weight loss. More than 60 percent of those on Wegovy experience smaller changes, in part because the drug can’t account for the complex drivers of obesity that aren’t related to food. The next generation of drugs is reaching for more. The first leap forward is Mounjaro, known generically as tirzepatide, a diabetes drug from Eli Lilly that the FDA is expected to approve for weight loss this year. In one study, it led to 20 percent or more weight loss in up to 57 percent of people who took the highest dose; The Wall Street Journal recently called it the “King Kong” of weight-loss drugs. People on Mounjaro tend to lose more weight more quickly and generally have a “better experience” than those on Wegovy, Keith Tapper, a biotech analyst at BMO Capital Markets, told me. It’s also cheaper, though by no means cheap, at roughly $980 for the highest-dose option, he said; a dose of Wegovy costs about $1,350.

    These leaps in potency are happening on the molecular level. Like semaglutide, Mounjaro mimics the effects of GLP-1, but it also hits receptors for another hormone—GIP. That leads to even more weight loss by further attenuating focus on food and potentially also increasing the activity of a fat-burning enzyme, said Tapper. So-called dual-agonist drugs “offer a step change” in both weight loss and blood-sugar control, he added.

    And why stop at two receptors when so many others are involved in regulating hunger? “This area is exploding in terms of research and testing different combinations of hormones,” which are still poorly understood, Shauna Levy, a professor specializing in bariatric surgery at Tulane University School of Medicine, told me. Eli Lilly has another drug in the works that targets three receptors; one from the drugmaker Amgen works by “putting the brakes” on the GIP receptor and “putting the gas” on GLP-1’s, a company spokesperson told me. Several other companies have already joined what some have dubbed a “race” to develop the next great obesity drug, in which Lilly, Pfizer, Amgen, Structure Therapeutics, and Viking Therapeutics are expected to be the front-runners, said Tapper.

    The potency of weight-less drugs is not the only factor that will determine the shape of their future trajectory. Wegovy and Mounjaro injections are tolerable for most people, but they are less convenient than a pill. Making oral versions of these drugs isn’t as easy as packing everything into a capsule, though. Semaglutide is a molecule that gets chewed up in the stomach. For this reason, the semaglutide pill Rybelsus, which is already approved for diabetes, leads to far less dramatic weight loss than its injectable kin. But drugmakers are undeterred by this complication, because a pill even more powerful than semaglutide would no doubt have many customers. In January, Pfizer’s CEO Albert Bourla said that an oral weight-loss drug “unlocks the market,” which he estimated could eventually be worth $90 billion. Pfizer doesn’t have any weight-loss drugs yet but is developing a twice-daily GLP-1 agonist pill; Eli Lilly also has an oral version in the works. Tapper expects those drugs to become available in 2026, and a similar offering from Structure Therapeutics is likely to follow the next year.

    Drugmakers will also likely vie to create drugs with fewer side effects. Novo Nordisk notes that gastrointestinal issues are common with semaglutide; accounts of horrible nausea, constipation, and vomiting have proliferated online. As one actor put it to New York Magazine, people on Ozempic are “shitting their brains out.” With Wegovy, more serious issues, such as pancreatitis, thyroid cancer, and kidney failure, are also possible but are considered rare. Although nothing to scoff at, side effects tend to subside with prolonged treatment and can usually be managed with help from a doctor, said both Fitch and Levy, who regularly prescribe semaglutide to patients with obesity. It’s possible, Levy added, that people experiencing really terrible effects may be getting their drugs from shady compounding pharmacies or even from other countries.

    The fact that people are turning to sketchy outlets to get weight-loss drugs underscores the biggest issue with them: access. Medicare and most private insurance companies don’t cover anti-obesity drugs. (Such drugs are classified as “cosmetic” by the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, and thus don’t qualify for coverage.) “I am hopeful that the price will come down with more competition,” Fitch told me. But there’s no guarantee that will happen: Competition typically makes a product cheaper over time, but research suggests that isn’t always the case in pharmaceuticals. Even if the drugs do become cheaper, they may not become cheap enough. The oral forms of these drugs, some of which could be available by 2026, are expected to cost about $500 a month, Tapper said. By 2030, the cost of obesity drugs could come down to about $350 a month, according to a recent Morgan Stanley analysis, which would still be out of reach for many Americans.

    Levy estimates that the next five years will bring about a “huge explosion” of next-gen obesity drugs. In that case, the market will likely expand to accommodate a variety of drugs with different price points and efficacies. Some people may aim to lose 20 or more percent of their body weight; some may be content with less. The market is so diverse that it will likely “support a broad range of options,” said Tapper, such as cheaper, lower-dose oral drugs for people who have milder medical issues, and more expensive injectables for those with more severe medical concerns. That opens up the possibility that medically mediated weight loss could soon be an option for a far greater proportion of people.

    Regardless of how much these drugs’ costs may decrease, they will always add up if people are paying out of pocket for them. They are meant to be taken long term: Once a person stops taking Wegovy, the weight tends to come right back. The current crop of weight-loss medications are essentially maintenance drugs, much like the cholesterol-busting drug Lipitor, which is taken daily to treat long-term disease. But Lipitor, unlike obesity drugs, is generally covered by insurance. Unless obesity drugs receive the same kind of coverage, no level of improvement will lead them to deliver on what Ozempic is promising us now.

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    Yasmin Tayag

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